The Project
by whirlwinds of watercolours
Summary: Blaise Zabini: the arrogant Slytherin. Ginny Weasley: the fierce Gryffindor. Can those two at loggerheads ever bury the hatchet long enough to complete the project?
1. Fate

**Summary: Blaise Zabini: the arrogant Slytherin. Ginny Weasley: the fierce Gryffindor. Can those two at loggerheads ever bury the hatchet long enough to complete the project?**

**Rating: K plus**

**Word Count: 1320**

**Written For: Almost Like a Novel Challenge; The Super-Mega-Foxy-Awesome-Hot Multichapter Competition; I Hate You, You Hate Me Now Let's Go Snog Multichapter; Weekly Updater Competition; 'As Strong As We Are United' Competition**

**A/N: This is actually a rewrite of my old story, also titled _the Project_. I found the old version to be lacking in detail and quality, so here's a brand new shiny one! Many thanks to my beta _Emma Quinn_!**

* * *

Fate.

Fate was a strange thing, of twists and turns and countless colours all blending together to create a timeline. Like a never-ending ribbon, fate could bend and flow wherever it wished to, for or against the wishes of its owner.

It was through fate that Blaise Zabini found himself sitting in a Muggle Studies classroom, more focussed on the chirping of birds outside the classroom than what the professor was saying inside.

Needless to say, he was not a fan of Muggle Studies.

Truth be told, he himself was not even sure what he was doing here. All he knew was that his mother had sent _a bloody Howler_ which unfortunately opened in the _middle of the Great Hall_ after he snapped his sixth wand, rambling on about how important it was not to sit on it, how expensive wands were nowadays, how economy was falling, and other things he had automatically managed to tune out.

_As if she needed the money_, Blaise thought, rolling his eyes at the ridiculous and the utter absurdity of the mere notion. An image of Mrs Zabini dressed in rags while begging pitifully on the street entered his mind and he could not resist the snort which escaped his lips, earning a few curious glances from the others in the room. His mother? Poor? She had plenty of Galleons in her Gringotts vault; Blaise had caught a glimpse of the towering stacks of gold glittering in the light the last time she went to withdraw money. Mrs Zabini and poor just did not belong in the same sentence.

To rub salt on a wound, he was not even the one responsible for all those broken wands! It seemed that the petty Malfoy had taken a big blow on his over-sized ego when Blaise refused to join his gang of worshippers consisting of dunderheads Crabbe and Goyle and naturally, the female population of Slytherins. Being Blaise Zabini – who certainly did _not_fret over trivial matters – he could not be bothered with plotting revenge on Malfoy for breaking a normal wizard's most prized possession. After all, who was Malfoy but another envious student vying for his attention?

Even after all those wands Malfoy managed to get his grubby little hands on and break, his mother had done nothing to punish him. Without even batting an eyelash, she would just hand him the money to buy a new one and half-heartedly warn him of the consequences of snapping another.

But apparently, he had crossed the line this time, for his mother approached a new tactic.

She placed him in Muggle Studies class.

When Blaise vehemently protested against this and pointed out that it was not his fault, she simply stated that he 'must not shift the blame to others' and 'take responsibility for his own actions', plus he needed to 'know the way Muggles live without magic' and other nonsensical rubbish he had deemed useless and tuned out. After a heated argument, his mother had finally put her foot down: Blaise was going to Muggle Studies class, whether he liked it or not.

Sure, he was the one making the final call. He could stand up from his seat at this very moment and just walk away from the class – but was dropping one stupid class worth risking his mother's fiery wrath? After all, _she_ was the one controlling his inheritance. He could go from Blaise Zabini, the dirty rich heir to the Zabini fortune, to Blaise Zabini, the beggar in the streets, at any second.

Looking around, he idly noted all those people who attended Muggle Studies were those blood traitors like Longbottom and filthy half-bloods like Abbott. No Muggle-born in their right mind would attend these classes, except for that Mudblood Granger, but apparently she had the sense to drop the subject this year since her bushy brown locks were nowhere in sight.

Most of his classmates were listening attentively to the professor droning, except, obviously, himself. The original class of fourth-years was so small that it had to be combined with the third-years; but even then, the class only had about thirty or so students. Blaise had known the subject was unpopular, but he never imagined it would this terrible. He felt dirty by merely sitting in that classroom, as if mere information about Muggles was tainting his blood already.

"... and that is why Muggles need electricity," the Muggle Studies professor, Charity Burbage, a stiff and formal lady with a sense of traditionalism - unfortunately not including the widely accepted hatred of Mudbloods and Muggles in wizarding circles - finally finished her lengthy and not to mention sleep-inducing speech just as the bell chimed throughout the hallways of Hogwarts, signalling the end of classes. He heaved a sigh of relief; he thought the torture would never end.

"Before you leave," the professor suddenly said, interrupting the students who were packing up their quills and parchment, ready to exit the classroom, "I would like to make an announcement."

All eyes turned to Professor Burbage, except for Blaise's, of course. He merely groaned inwardly and sat down again in his chair, bracing himself for another mini lecture Burbage forgot to include in her original one.

"Over the next month, I would like you to challenge yourselves not to use magic outside of classes." Blaise snorted to himself upon hearing this assignment. He could not be bothered to 'challenge himself' for anything to do with Muggle Studies.

But Professor Burbage was not finished yet. "Of course, you will all be assigned partners to watch over you. Your partner will be tasked to follow you everywhere except to classes, and all the time except after curfew. Just because your partner has taken his or her eyes off you for one second does not mean you can use magic." Her stern grey eyes swept the room, over guilty expressions, neutral faces, and smirks of the students.

"Remember, this constitutes as part of your final grade." Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that half-insane Loony Lovegood exchanging glances with the blood traitor, the Weasley girl. Their faces were lit with childish excitement at the prospect of not using magic for a month and acting like the filthy Muggle pests they were supposed and meant to be. Scoffing silently to himself, his eye roll went unnoticed by the two excited students, who were probably conspiring in their heads. Leave it to them to get excited over such a trivial matter.

So what if it affected his marks? He had wonderful grades for the rest of his subjects; one teeny black mark would not hurt much. He had plenty of connections everywhere; he was sure he could erase records of him attending this class before he started work at the Ministry.

"I will be assigning you your project partner, of course." Burbage consulted the clipboard in her hand, ignoring the groans which met her last statement. "Luna Lovegood with Neville Longbottom."

He saw the disappointed look on both the girls' faces, and he discreetly smirked to himself. Everything that annoyed the blood traitor and Lovegood would be something he was sure to like. It served her right for being such a Mudblood-lover along with the rest of her parents and their unclean spawns.

"Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones."

He saw the two Hufflepuff girls smile at each other from across the room. At least Abbott and Bones were half-bloods unlike Weasley and Lovegood. They, at the very least, had a _right_ to be curious about their dirty heritage.

"Blaise Zabini," Blaise's head snapped up from his doodling of parchment at the sound of his name. Waiting with bated breath, his mild expression of interest did not betray his burning curiosity to find out who his mysterious partner for this stupid project would be.

"Ginevra Weasley."

Right now, he was not a fan of fate either.


	2. Of Charms and Deals

**Word Count: 1538**

**A/N: A little overdue from my weekly goal, but I hope I'm not too late to catch up! Many thanks to my beta _Emma Quinn_!**

**Hope you enjoy this!**

* * *

"Why is it always me?"

That line was so often used by Neville Longbottom whenever he came back to the Gryffindor Common Room from an encounter with the Slytherins that it was deemed his official quote. Indeed, it was so fitting that some of the meaner Gryffindors would look at each other with exasperation and sigh, "Why is it always me?" in a mocking tone whenever Neville appeared in the doorway torn and battered. Even some of the Slytherins had caught on and relished in the chance of teasing him mercilessly.

Today, however, the Gryffindors found it was not an unfortunate Neville who uttered that as he stood in the portrait hole, but a very, very furious Ginny.

"I swear, Burbage has a grudge against me or something," she complained, setting her heavy bag of parchment and books on the settee by the fireside before sinking into the plush red material herself. "At the beginning of the year, she put me in the seat next to Michael Corner. You know, the one who's rumoured to have a crush on me? Yeah, I suspect the poor boy really does and he's the kind who has the annoyingly subtle way of showing it. Now? She's paired me with the only Slytherin in Muggle Studies after I specifically requested if she could kindly pair me with someone from my own year in any future projects while Luna got Neville. Out of thirty people to choose from, why does it have to be me who gets him?"

Silence rang through the Common Room after her speech, the Gryffindors stopping their hullabaloo. It was general knowledge among them that one did not simply mess around when any of the redheads were in their infamous Weasley temper.

Finally, after a few moments, it was Hermione who broke the quiet. Clearing her throat, she began cautiously in a soft and timid voice uncharacteristic of her. "Ginny," she started, eyeing the fuming Weasley warily, "You need to calm down a bit. I know how it feels when the teacher seems really unfair to you, but there must be a reason she's doing this. She can't just decide out of the blue that she'll pick on you."

A few Gryffindors nodded and began to relax a little, but the others were still unsure. With good reason, Ginny thought to herself.

"I'm sure she can find plenty of reasons to pick on me," she replied bitterly. "Her husband works in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office too and apparently he doesn't like Dad very much because he's jealous of Dad's position of authority. Percy was her star pupil before he graduated and I'm sure she expects me to be as brilliant as him. Need I say any more? Charity Carolyn Burbage hates me."

Shifting her weight from one foot to another, Hermione looked mildly uncomfortable as she chewed at her lip, struggling to find the right words to soothe the bubbling temper of the redhead. There was no denying that Ginny had been factually correct – Percy was the star of Muggle Studies even though he came from a pureblood family and Mr Burbage did indeed work in the Ministry under the office of Arthur Weasley. However, that did not necessarily mean that Professor Burbage hated Ginny, right?

"I don't think Professor Burbage hates you, Ginny. Maybe she just has high expectations of you, given the fact that she has such a good impression of Percy."

"High expectations? Hmm… maybe she could have expressed her agenda better by, I don't know, setting difficult questions in tests instead of making me work with a Slytherin? Because that is simply not plausible. I'm just lucky that the project only starts on the lesson after the next."

…

The following Monday was the day that Ginny dreaded the most. Monday usually declared the official start of the week, but this Monday was special – this Monday denoted the official start of the Muggle Studies Assignment.

Or, better known as the-project-in-which-I-got-paired-with-a-Slytherin-who-is-going-to-fail-me-then-kill-me-in-my-sleep.

It had a pretty long title, but at the very least it was an accurate description of her doom.

Fortunately, Muggle Studies happened to be the last class of the day, so Ginny did not have to spend the morning with the bad mood she was surely going to get after attending the class with that horrible teacher. If she were lucky enough, she could dash out of the room in time to miss a conversation with Zabini.

In the previous Muggle Studies lesson, Burbage had explained what the students were supposed to do in this lesson. Since all of the students belonged to different houses and each had a different common room, a charm was needed to secure the loopholes – mainly, students hiding in their respective common rooms to avoid their partner. Obviously, the point of the assignment was to get the fact hammered into their brains that magic was not the solution to everything, so in order to ensure that no one would cheat, a charm had to be used.

The charm was not perfect and rather complicated – a general one had to be placed in the common room and a personal one on the two partners. If a party decided to go into his or her common room without informing their partner on their purpose prior to crossing the threshold, they would find themselves in a most undesirable position.

Unfortunately however, the charm was not very easy to remove nor was it powerful enough to detect magical power when it was used. Removal required an even more complicated spell and to Ginny's dismay, no one seemed to know the countercharm to temporarily disable it, not even Hermione who spent the past few days in the library furiously looking up on detecting charms. Red-faced and tired, she had explained that it was likely the spell was recently invented by Burbage herself since the books did not have any particular charm which did the same as the one Burbage used.

Of course, as soon as curfew began, all charms would be voided and the Muggle Studies students would be free to use their magic, but according to Burbage she trusted them enough that they would not go wild with magical power every night, to put it in more eloquent terms.

"Please, take a seat next to your partner," Burbage's droning voice floated over to them as a crowd of Muggle Studies students entered her classroom. Resisting the urge to groan out loud, Ginny stood on her tip of her toes, looking for a sign of the dark-skinned Italian.

He was rather easy to spot among the crowd of milling students. Arriving early, he was already hunched over bits and pieces of parchment scattered around his desk, apparently concentrating very hard on whatever he was doing. As soon as he heard her approaching footsteps, he immediately straightened his posture, gathering up all the parchment in one neat pile and stuffing them into the depths of his bag.

"Good afternoon, Weaslette," he sneered slightly, yet somehow managing to keep his expression and general tone one of politeness.

"Afternoon, Zabini," she replied, sitting down on the seat next to him and not bothering to ask him what he was up to. Frankly, she was not feeling too polite at the moment, nor was she curious. At any rate, it was none of her business.

"We will be spending the whole of today's lesson casting the charm on your partner. Instructions are written on the board – they are there for a reason, so please follow them carefully. You may begin."

The class was soon full of chanting, spell lights and occasionally, a mini explosion here and there. Ginny, however, paid no heed to them and focused her full attention on casting the spell perfectly, even though it still repulsed her that she was working with Blaise Zabini of all people.

Surprisingly, he was also intent on perfecting the spell and they cooperated rather well for a first time. By the end of the lesson, among some other pairs they had successfully placed a detecting charm on each other.

"Good work today, everyone! For those who did not manage to cast the charm successfully, please stay back after class," Burbage concluded, shooting a sharp glance to the few pairs which had sadly failed. As her eyes swept across the class, Ginny could have sworn that Burbage's lips twitched into a smile when she looked in her direction.

Class was dismissed, but before Ginny could slyly sneak out of the room, a tanned hand barricaded her from the door and freedom.

"Listen, Weaslette," Zabini began uncomfortably, glancing behind him quickly to make sure that Burbage had no intention of shooing them out of the classroom yet. To his relief and her horror, she was currently reprimanding the remaining students and was too preoccupied to see what was happening at the back of the classroom. He turned back to her, dark brown eyes completely serious. "I know you hate this stupid assignment about not using magic, and trust me, I do too. So how about we make a deal: we'll use magic but won't tell on each other. How's that to you?"

She looked at his outstretched hand, then back to his eyes. For once, the depths were sincere and contained no hint of mockery as they stared pleadingly into her own brown ones. He really must have been desperate to pass this assignment, then.

"That, to me, is cheating."

With that, she spun on her heel and strode out of the room, ignoring Zabini's surprised look and the trail of whispers and shocked glances which followed in her wake.


End file.
